Chapter 2: Obsolete
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She had called him one evening out of the blue, to ask him to go on an interview with her. Sullivan Palmer, elite primetime anchor of the show "Sit Down with Sulley," was in a league of his own when it came to high profile celebrity interviews. Where other journalists managed to get the scoop, Sulley managed to get two scoops and a cherry on top. He had invited Rachel on his show to finally open up about her experience at the Oscars. But he didn't just want Rachel; he wanted to hear from the mysterious unnamed bodyguard who had jumped in front of her. Everyone did.
Frank had hesitated, knowing the attention it would bring onto him. It could be considered a danger to his current principal. Leah would be jealous if he went on air with another woman. He didn't perform well in front of a camera. He brought up every excuse he could think of not to do the interview. All the while Rachel tried to sweet talk him into it, insisting he get the recognition he deserved for his act of heroism.
"The second I get recognized for it, I'll no longer feel like a hero," Frank had told her.
"Well, that's too bad," she murmured, her fork-tender voice turning him into a puddle even over the static of the receiver. "I'll miss having you with me."
And that was how their last phone conversation had ended.
It took six months before the interview aired. Frank had waited with bated breath the entire time.
Leah had been pleased to find him that afternoon, painstakingly adjusting the rabbit ears above their television; he didn't dare tell her his motivation for finally doing the chore she had nagged him about for months.
He found himself later that night, alone by the living room television, straining to hear because he had to keep it at the lowest volume setting. His heart thumped in his ears as he listened to the introduction, one aching finger poised above the channel button in case his fiancé walked in on him.
"It's an incredible story, one that continues to captivate audiences to this day. Rachel Marron's name is called out as the winner of best actress for Queen of the Night. The moment she steps on stage, her entire life is about to change."
Palmer's dramatic voice was accompanied by images of Rachel that night before the ceremony had started. A golden goddess waving to her fawning fans, owning the red carpet, smiling at the cameras.
"Tell us about that night," Palmer's voice cut through the carousel of familiar images to his comfortable looking studio, and across from him, the camera at last revealed his interviewee.
Even just on the small screen, Rachel was a vision. She'd come to the interview wearing a soft powder blue dress, with pleated sleeves that fell delicately over her narrow shoulders. Her hair was swept to one side, noticeably lighter and longer than it had been several months back. She looked effortlessly feminine as she always had, but there was something different about her appearance here that made her look so pure and angelic; Frank couldn't look away.
He watched and listened in heart pounding awe as she talked in detail about her memories from that fateful night leading up to the incident.
Her voice was surprisingly calm and warm. Even her expression seemed to be one of subtle fondness.
Sulley pried for information, but Rachel was discerning about how much she shared. In fact, Frank had never seen her so classy. She had changed.
When they at last came to discuss the attempted shooting, Rachel's tone turned darker, even trembling over her words at times.
Her answers to Sulley's questions were interlaced with striking shots of Frank jumping in front of Rachel on stage, the cameras shaking and the footage blurred. Frank felt his soul twist in agony as they showed it from nearly every angle, from every camera that had been recording the moment as it happened.
It left him stunned, having never seen the footage before. He had purposefully avoided watching all news coverage following the incident, wanting to remove himself from the spotlight as quickly as possible. He'd realized now it didn't change the fact that people knew he was. They may not have known his full name or what his face looked like up close, but they all knew the blurred man in a black tuxedo who had saved Rachel Marron's life.
"You told us your bodyguard wishes to remain anonymous, and as we understand it he no longer works for you. Is that right?"
Rachel nodded, a sad twinkle in her dark eyes. "Yeah, that's right."
"Do you ever talk to him about that night?"
The camera closed in on her. She tilted her head, causing a wayward curl to fall into her forehead, which she smoothly brushed aside. "No, we don't talk about it." A shadow passed across her expressive gaze. "We don't really keep in touch, actually."
The camera then showed Sulley seated across from her, his eyebrows raised. "I think most folks would find that surprising."
After a beat, Rachel said softly, "I do too."
Her words were like a punch in the gut.
Frank almost shut off the television, but Sulley's next question stopped him.
"A final question for you, Rachel: What do you think makes a good bodyguard?"
She smiled a little and answered, "A bodyguard doesn't have to be tough. They have to be calculated and resilient and think fast on their feet. But above all that, they have to be willing to make sacrifices." She paused, a distant gleam in her eyes. "And that was what my bodyguard did for me."
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Seeing her again was intoxicating. Frank had never expected to find Rachel Marron in Pittsburgh of all places. After spotting her in the lobby that morning, he obsessively sought out information to explain the reason behind her appearance. She was performing in a local Christmas special, the hotel staff had told him, likely thinking he may have just been a curious fan. Contrary to what people might have thought, Frank Farmer didn't follow Rachel Marron's moves that closely anymore. That wasn't his job anymore.
All those times he had heard her silk voice on the radio, watched her dance provocatively in her music videos, and even seen her performing live on stage; it all paled in comparison to seeing the real thing again, just yards away from him. For a brief moment his instincts had taken over and he almost thought he was protecting her again. But that was Pettigrew's job, and if Frank was being honest with himself, he envied the man sometimes.
Because ninety-nine percent of Frank Farmer was relieved that he no longer served as Rachel Marron's bodyguard. The other repressed one percent of him wanted to serve her as more than just her bodyguard.
Feeling conflicted over it all, he had decided he would not approach her. If she wanted to talk to him, she could do the legwork. He would instead do what he did best. Watch from the background.
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"All right, I'm up." She turned around.
Her very first thought was that he looked out of place. Too professional. Uptight. When Bill had told Rachel her new bodyguard was a former secret service agent, she had envisioned an overly broad, bald, seven-foot-tall white man with an earpiece and shades. Frank Farmer fit none of those characteristics, except for the white part. Rachel rarely found white men attractive, but her new bodyguard was somewhat exquisite.
She gave him a lingering once-over and said forwardly, "You don't look like a bodyguard."
He hadn't seemed too perturbed by her assessment. "What'd you expect?"
She wagged her head at him, her tone dripping with upper hand. "I don't know, maybe a tough guy." She could tell right away he was the reserved type, and she wanted to make it clear to him that she wouldn't be afraid to push him out of his comfort zone.
He paused for a moment, then said in a controlled voice, "This is my disguise."
The intensity in his eyes was enough to make her stumble backwards.
And a disguise it was, for Rachel had yet to discover just how little she knew about Frank Farmer.
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Rachel Marron was not so secretive about her varied love affairs. She threw more than a bone or two to the tabloids in her time, and she'd never deny that some of the flings were specifically initiated to incite some buzz around her name. She'd been with twelve different men since Frank. All of them had one thing in common that Frank didn't share. They were all famous – pro athletes, rock stars, movie stars. Rachel Marron always had someone new on her arm when she went out on the town. She never prided herself on it. She just played the part. It was what had become expected of her, and so it was what she continued to do.
As Fletcher matured over the years, the once precocious little boy became a headstrong and frustratingly overprotective 18-year-old who wanted only the best for his mother. Rachel could not fight Fletcher on anything. As soon as he disapproved of the boyfriends, Rachel dumped them that same day. Fletcher would attempt to give his mom the lecture on what to look for in a good guy, and Rachel would nod solemnly along. It was always the same thing, year after year.
She never really changed, though. In a few months' time she would move right on to the next available guy, and with little effort she'd seduce them.
Rachel wasn't used to working very hard for the things she wanted. She was one of the few people in the world who was blessed with a natural talent of singing, and that was never lost on her. A lot of people probably thought she worked hard at perfecting her craft, but it just wasn't true. She could walk right up on the stage in her pajamas after just having woken up from three hours of sleep the night before, and belt out an acapella that could bring grown men to their knees in tears.
Then there was Frank, who had all the rigid discipline of an Olympic athlete; so, so different from her.
All these years later, it seemed hard to believe they had been romantic with each other at one point. Sometimes she was in pure denial that they'd even slept together once.
Somehow she'd repressed the memories of that night. It was too painful for her to remember it, especially after the way they'd parted. It was so final. So impossible that they could ever reconnect. But now, for the first time in a decade, Rachel allowed herself to lavish in the memories of that forbidden night.
She relived the moment he'd cut her scarf in half with that damned sword. It was all a slippery slope from there. They'd used the sword as a prop during foreplay, hadn't they? And it hadn't been her idea to do that. It had been his.
She wasn't a stranger to kink by any means, but it was the usual stuff. Handcuffs, blindfolds, ice cubes, whipped cream. She got bored of it after a while. Her previous lovers all thought they were going to blow her mind; meanwhile it was all stuff she'd done to death. But the others she'd been with wouldn't dream of bringing a lethal weapon into the bedroom. They couldn't handle it the way Frank could.
And then. . .
The edging.
No other man had ever done that to her before. No other man would dare do that to her. Every other man gave her whatever she wanted at a moment's whim. But Farmer hadn't done that. She didn't think other men had the restraint or the patience to fool around like that. They wanted to get to the good part and get there fast. If there was one thing that had stuck with her all these years about that night, it was how long it had lasted.
Frank was disturbingly attentive as a lover. It was in his nature to notice every detail, but in bed he made it his obsession. His eyes were so vigilant, taking in every tiny reaction she had to his touches, and he responded immediately. That was something she'd never experienced before.
A knock on her hotel room door startled her out of her heated reverie. Rachel shook her head, stood up from her vanity and moved to open the door.
Bill greeted her. "Ready to go to breakfast?"
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The elevators in this place were painfully slow, Rachel thought. She yawned and Bill glared at her. "I've given up hope of ever converting you to an early riser, Rachel."
She sighed, adjusting her skirt. "The fact that anyone elects to wake up before eight o'clock astounds me."
Bill muttered, "A.M. or P.M.?" as she passed him through the elevator doors and into the crowded lobby.
He was there.
Her heart began to thump loudly as she tried to devise a plan of action. He seemed to be involved in conversation with two other men, not far from the main doors to the lobby.
Bill gestured eagerly to the dining area where a banquet table full of dishes was being prepared. "I think they start serving at seven o'clock," he nudged her.
Rachel rolled her eyes. "I don't care about the food. I just want a damn coffee."
"You should have used the machine in your room," he chided her.
"It wasn't working!" she complained, her eyes never leaving Frank. "Besides, you know me; I like to have my fancy coffee."
Bill huffed, "Don't I ever." Conveniently, he walked away from her. She took a deep breath and straightened up, readying herself to go over and talk to Frank. If she waited any longer, she might lose the chance.
Slowly, confidently, Rachel approached the group where Frank was standing. As if sensing that she was there to speak to him, and him alone, the other two men dispersed after exchanging glances with each other.
"Hello, Frank."
"Hello, Rachel." The tone of his voice said it all. He'd already seen her. Of course he had. The man didn't miss a beat.
He wasn't wearing a wedding ring. The absolute relief she felt upon seeing it for herself was utterly unacceptable.
"You haven't changed a bit since the last time I saw you," she said with a smile.
"I was in a sling the last time you saw me," he reminded her, gesturing to his left arm.
She shook her head, laughing lightly. "I mean your face hasn't changed much."
He stared at her with that all-knowing, imperceptible smile in place. "You haven't changed much either."
"Oh, good, the forty minutes a day I spend plucking out the gray hairs must be working," she joked with a forced laugh.
He tilted his head slightly at her comment, as if inspecting her eyes for honesty. She avoided his eyes and cleared her throat. "So, you're protecting some government person again?"
He nodded. "Senator. How'd you know?"
She paused, recalling that her information had been obtained through gossip. "A guess," she lied. "This place is teeming with stiffs." She looked around lazily at all of the older men in suits. "I pity you, Farmer. This is a bleak scene."
He smirked at her. "I won't be with him much longer," he said, eyeing the lobby door as a new group of people filed in.
"Yeah, I forgot you don't like to stay in one place for very long," Rachel said, arms crossed.
He quietly clarified, "I don't form attachments."
She shifted uncomfortably, her mouth suddenly too dry to respond.
Before it became awkward, he asked, "How's Fletcher?"
She perked up. "He's real good. Too smart though. He graduated early and had so many scholarships it took him all last year to decide which college to attend," she bragged.
Frank appeared genuinely happy at this news. "Sounds about right."
At that moment, Bill arrived at Rachel's side and greeted Frank with a hearty slap on the back. "Frank! What's happening, man?"
"Hey, Bill. Good to see you. How have you been?"
"Hangin' in there." Bill gestured to Rachel. "This one is still giving me a run for my money, but what else is new?"
Frank looked at Rachel briefly, clearly trying to contain a smile.
"Is Pettigrew still with you?" he asked Bill.
"Oh, yeah, he's here. Checking on Rachel's suite, I suspect."
"How about Henry?"
Bill smiled fondly. "He got engaged a couple years back and took another job closer to his fiancé's family. Works in Atlanta now."
"And Tony?"
"Tony's in New Jersey visiting his mom. She's not doing too well."
Frank's face fell. "I'm sorry to hear that."
Rachel interjected, "I told him to take the holidays off. He won't be back until after the new year."
Frank looked mildly surprised.
Bill leaned toward him and said in a lowered voice, "In the meantime, I'm gearing up for retirement."
Rachel snorted. "As if it's a secret." She gave Bill a lighthearted slap on the arm as he laughed good-naturedly. Frank grinned at their exchange.
"Oh, looks like they've opened the buffet," Bill pointed out. "Come sit at our table, Frank," he suggested warmly.
Frank glanced over his shoulder at the rest of his party. "I'd like to, but I'm really only on a short break."
"I got you," Bill waved him on. "We'll catch up later, okay?"
Instead of following Bill, Rachel lingered strategically behind. "He's always got to be the first in line when the food is served," she chuckled. Frank smiled. They locked eyes for a moment before Rachel sighed, "It's so good to see you again, Frank."
He nodded tightly. "You, too."
"Farmer, you got the itinerary?" An older man in a blue suit appeared behind Frank to tap his shoulder.
"Yeah," Frank replied briskly, reaching inside his jacket pocket.
Rachel took it as a sign to leave. "Don't be a stranger," she murmured before turning away. There Bill stood on the other end of the room, tapping his foot as he waited for her.
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Breakfast was sub-par. Rachel was never a fan of a hotel breakfast; in fact she was never really a breakfast person in general. She was more of a coffee and grapefruit person. Breakfast was always the one meal she just liked to get over with.
This was especially the case now, when she would have much rather extended her conversation with Farmer. It was so frustrating that they'd waited this long to see each other again, and they would likely only get to exchange a few pleasantries while they were here.
He was working, she reminded herself. This wasn't a vacation for him, it was a convention.
After they finished breakfast, Scott came downstairs to brief Rachel on their status with the suite. He was just about to walk her back to the elevator when Frank's voice stopped them.
"Pettigrew," he addressed the white-haired man beside Rachel. She and her bodyguard turned around.
"Farmer, I thought you'd be here," Scott replied with a smile. He tipped his head toward the east ballroom. "Looks like a long haul."
"We're here for a week," Frank confirmed.
"Damn. So close to Christmas, too. You going back to Tahoe for the holidays?"
"I'm not sure yet."
"I tell ya, Frank, if I'd inherited that place I'd never leave it."
Rachel narrowed her eyes in confusion before Frank swiftly changed the subject. "Did you hear this hotel has a wireless fidelity network?"
Scott looked very interested. "I've been trying to link up to it all morning."
Frank nodded. "It's got a lot of bugs. They're running a legacy management software. I think they're gonna have to transition."
"I'm not surprised," Scott said. "Those operating systems are a bit, uh… obsolete now."
"Obsolete," Rachel casually repeated, "kinda like samurai swords?"
Frank's eyes flicked to hers immediately. And he gave her a look. A look that made her want to shove him into the nearest housekeeping closet and strip him down to nothing but his earpiece.
Scott looked thoroughly confused. "A bit of an… obscure example, but yeah, I guess."
Frank's gaze never parted with hers as he quietly echoed, "Obscure."
"Well, we'll see you around, Farmer," Scott said, urging Rachel into the elevator.
Rachel's eyes never parted with Frank's until the doors closed between them.